On This Unholy Day
by Franco Veja Roker
Summary: Grissom's late for work, but Warrick has other ideas. Slash, fluff, Christmas fic.


Title: On This Unholy Day  
Author: Tobias Charity (with a little help from the other half of FVR.)  
Rating: It's FLUFF. C'mon. Okay, PG-13  
Pairing: Grissom/Warrick  
Summary: Grissom has to go to work, only Warrick's got other ideas.  
Notes: Written in all of twenty minutes in the airport on Christmas Eve. And mostly written as an excuse to use that quote from Romeo and Juliet. I played (the female version of) Mercutio in the school production, and that line's always stuck with me. Blame Senza; she told me I couldn't write fluff. And here you have it. Props to Senza, per usual. Me and my oppositional defiant personality.  
  
Also? It's posted under FVR mostly because TC was too ashamed to post it under her own penname. Further notes at the end.  
  
On This Unholy Day  
  
  
Warrick awoke to find his lover's fingers twined in his hair and a hand pressed to the flat plane of his stomach. He turned over and smiled sleepily up at the bottomless eyes above him, before pressing a kiss to the junction of his lover's neck and shoulder.   
  
"G'mornin', Gil."  
  
He was answered with a consuming kiss, Gil's mouth covering his own and his tongue caressing the roof of Gil's mouth. Warrick pulled away after a long moment, grinning.  
  
"And a very merry Christmas Eve to you, too."  
  
Grissom didn't answer, instead cocking his head to one side and examining Warrick's face with both eyes and hands. "You...you are gorgeous," he said after a moment, in a hushed whisper. "What did I do to be blessed like this?"  
  
"Said penance often enough, apparently," Warrick quipped, sliding his arms around Gil's waist and settling his head on Gil's chest.  
  
"Thou will quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?" Grissom's hands lovingly stroked Warrick's hair, and the younger man smiled blearily.  
  
"Emerson," he murmured, and was answered with a quiet laugh.  
  
"Shakespeare, you beautiful, unliterary, hazel-eyed creature." One of Grissom's hands slid down Warrick's back to rub at the knobby bumps of his spine. "How could anyone possibly have tormented you, just for that?"  
  
"Do you even need to ask that question?" Warrick mumbled, still drifting in and out of sleep. "Children are but adult cruelty in a tiny package."  
  
"Whitman."  
  
"Can't slip one by you, now can I?"   
  
"Nope." Ignoring Warrick's groan of disappointment, Grissom slid out of bed and padded towards the dresser.  
  
Warrick pulled Grissom's abandoned pillow over to him and curled around it, burying his nose in its comforting scent of Grissom's shampoo. "Aw, c'mon, come back to bed."  
  
"Can't. Pulled Christmas Eve/morning duty." A pair of boxers was snapped by its electric band across the room to land next to Warrick on the bed. "And so did you. Up."  
  
"Mmm, no can do, Gil." Warrick burrowed farther underneath the covers. "You can go play with your bugs on the slowest day of the year, and then come home and spend the rest of Christmas with me. We can play with the presents I got you. Like we planned. And besides--" he poked his head out from underneath the comforter, hair sticking messily in all directions, "isn't Brass on call duty tonight?"  
  
Grissom chuffed a laugh. "Brass had a family emergency to tend to, or so he informed me last shift. Plans change, be...what's a good word? Flexible. And I know you can be." Grissom shot a wink in Warrick's direction, who grinned back.  
  
"You know I love it when you use innuendo. Come back to bed, and talk really dirty to me. Plea-hea-hease."  
  
"Stop begging, or I'll be late for work." Grissom finished buttoning up his shirt and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring half-heartedly at the mop of brown dreadlocks poking out from underneath the comforter. "And so will you."  
  
"Uh-uh. Not going anywhere." The lump under the covers curled into a tighter ball. "No where at all. It's Christmas Eve. And my present is the day with you. Come on.  
  
"No, Warrick. Come on, get up." Grissom sat down on the edge of the bed and prodded at Warrick's shape underneath the blankets. "Get up."  
  
Warrick's muffled voice came out from underneath the covers. "Who else is on duty?"  
  
"Just Greg and one of the other labbies. Archie, maybe? Yeah, Archie." Grissom tugged at the corner of the blankets. "Really, Warrick, I'm not playing anymore. Up!"  
  
Warrick suddenly flung the blankets off and leapt swiftly on top of Grissom, pinning him swiftly to the bed by the wrists. "They can handle it," he said, grinning, and kissed Gil thoroughly on the mouth, before working his way down to the hollow of Gil's throat and suckling there for a moment. Gil moaned softly, hands clutching for dear life at Warrick's shoulders.  
  
"Do that again," he rasped roughly, and Warrick rubbed a bare knee against Grissom's clothed crotch.  
  
"You are far too dressed," he said coyly, nibbling on the collar of Gil's shirt. "I think I should fix that."  
  
"Warrick--" Grissom ground out. "No, no, no...Late for work already..."  
  
Warrick's fingers were already undoing the buttons of Grissom's shirt. "See, that's kind of the point. You haven't used a sick day all year; besides, who's the boss of this operation  
?"  
"Me..." Gil moaned, drawing the word out inadvertently when Warrick's talented mouth latched on to one of his nipples.  
  
"Wrong, Gil," Warrick grinned. "I'm completely in charge now." One hand slid down Grissom's body to rest on the bulge in his trousers. "Don't you think?"  
  
"Yeah...oh!" Grissom gasped aloud in pleasure. "Yeah. Well, maybe a sick day is in order..."  
  
/fin/  
  
Lee: ::whines:: Why must you attach my name to this sugary-sweet monstrosity?  
  
TC: Because it's a sugary sweet monstrosity.  
  
Lee: Point taken. 


End file.
